


The Trouble with Christmas

by amelia



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Christmas, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-03-07
Packaged: 2017-11-01 14:31:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amelia/pseuds/amelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose confronts Ten about his jam fetish, the TARDIS has difficulty with holidays, and the Doctor's wandering fingers turn to Rose to help solve the problem. Naughty fun times with jam, Christmas, Rose and the Tardis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It started with the jam.

Rose was imagining a nice slice of toast with butter and jam when she came into the Tardis kitchen, but the sight of the Doctor licking his fingers out of the jam jar changed her mind.

She paused in the doorway to watch him–eyes closed, fingers buried up to his knuckles in his mouth, sucking jam off his fingers, then dipping back in the jar for another go. His eyes fluttered open, and she made herself move into the room as if she’d never hesitated–she walked into the kitchen and opened the cupboard near him, looking for bread.

“You have to eat the jelly like that?” she said without looking at him.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Not exactly sanitary. Haven’t you got any unopened jars?”

“It’s the last,” the Doctor held up the jar and dipped his fingers back in. “Sorry,” he said, then scooped the jelly in his mouth, sucking it as he watched her grab a loaf of bread and open the refrigerator.

She heard him slurping and threw him a disgusted look. “Guess it’s nutella for me, then,” she said.

“One last jar,” he said, tossing the new nutella her way from the cupboard with his free hand. His tongue curled around his fingers and she watched him.

She felt herself react to the sight, his tongue swirling around his fingers, dipping in his mouth, the look of pleasure in his eyes. But he just gave her an adorable smile and she realized he wasn’t doing any of this for her–didn’t even realize the affect it could be having on her. She turned away.

“Doctor–just wash your hands when you’re done.”

\---

They took a trip to Earth and bought 37 jars of jam and jelly.

“We have to do it at Christmas time!” he insisted.

“But the queues! It will take forever.”

“Easier this way. Besides, who doesn’t love a little Christmas?”

Standing in line, the cashier looked at their pile of jam jars--blackberry, strawberry, rhubarb, marmalade, banana jelly, ginger jelly, grape and wine and even spicy japaleño jelly--and cartons of milk and eggnog. “You doing some sort of experiment or something?”

“Just Christmas gifts,” beamed the Doctor. “And the milk for Santa.”

The cashier shrugged with a smile. “Merry Christmas, then.”

“Milk for Santa?” asked Rose as they carried the sacks back to the Tardis. “Seriously?”

The Doctor smiled. “Told you Christmas was a good time for jam shopping.”

“How did I end up with an alien with a Christmas fetish?” Rose laughed to herself.


	2. It started with the jam.

The Tardis was on strike and insisted on visiting only holidays.

They’d accidentally hit several Easters, a Chanukah, Mayday, several days of Ramadan, countless Christmases, New Year’s, a rather terrifying Passover, and a smattering of less memorable holidays, all within the last week. 

His explanation: they’d caught too many Christmases recently, and the Tardis needed a good day of tinkering, along with some blinking lights on a tree, gingerbread, and eggnog. 

At least that’s what he said. Rose wasn’t quite sure it made any sense, and figured he was making up an explanation because he didn’t feel like describing the true technical reason to her. 

And because he wanted his own personal Christmas.

He was squatting under the Tardis console, screwdriver in hand, wearing a red fluffy Christmas hat and his usual suit and trainers, with his fingers firmly in the jam jar. “Jam really is best at Christmas,” he said. 

 

Meanwhile, she decorated the tree. They’d made a batch of cookies that were sitting uneaten, and she was drinking eggnog the only way she could stand it–spiked–while his cup stood there, virgin and untouched. 

She watched him licking his fingers clean time after time, while gazing up at the wires. As he stroked the nerve endings on his fingertips with his tongue, she watched the connections jump into place in his brain. 

Suddenly he dropped the jar, reached up, and started furiously twisting and attaching wires, and blasting the console with the screwdriver. And his face lit up with excitement, like he’d just saved Christmas. 

As immature as her alien sometimes was, Rose had to admit he was also charming, entertaining, and sometimes–but not as often as he thought–brilliant. 

Late at night, locked away in her room on the Tardis, she had replayed the image of him licking his fingers–although the facial expression changed into teasing, and their repartee became far more intimate. There were other things he could do with his tongue, besides eat through their jam stores.

She’d sat down with the plate of cookies, contemplating what their next great adventure might be, when he finally stood up from under the console. He stretched and groaned with stiffness, then stood looking at the Tardis with a little smile, twirling the screwdriver in his long fingers. 

She thought he probably knew that screwdriver better than he knew her, better maybe than he knew his own body. He knew every curve of it, knowing how to twist the dial and find the right setting without looking. 

She set down the cookies, scrambled over, and reached down to grab the overturned jam jar and its lid, next to his feet. 

“Want to go someplace without a holiday?” he grinned.

“But I’ve just got Christmas set up.”

And she dipped her fingers in the jar and slurped off the jam. Blackberry. 

He gazed at her, and at the tree she’d just set up. “Quite right,” he beamed. 

She tried to pick the seeds from her teeth with her tongue. “Does this jam help you think?”

“Oh yes. On the nose, Rose.” He smiled. “Helps me put all the connections together.”

He watched her lick her fingers clean, exaggerating the movement with her tongue. 

“Now you’re just mocking me, Rose Tyler!”

She shrugged with a grin. “So, your screwdriver–does it have any special settings? Like a — a vibrate setting?”

“A what?”

She slid up closer to him, till their elbows touched as they both leaned back on the console. And she leaned over and stroked the shining tool in his hand. Her arm brushed his and he watched her, his face confused. 

“You know,” she repeated. “Vibrate, or twirl, or something.”

“What d’you want it to do that for?”

“Well,” Rose shrugged, flicking her tongue against her lip seductively. “It’s Christmas, just the two of us. We’ve got a tree, and cookies, and eggnog–all we need is a little spark.” 

The puzzle finally snapped into place for him and he pulled back and looked at her.  
“No! You don’t want it to do —that!” 

She laughed. “What if I do?”

“I can’t let you borrow my screwdriver,” he said, tucking it into his coat.

“Who said anything about borrow?” She cocked an eyebrow.

“Well,” he answered. “You wouldn’t want me to-- And it doesn’t. Absolutely not.” 

“Haven’t you got any other interesting tools?”

He stood with his mouth open. “Mechanical tools–that’s all. For tinkering.”

He took the jam jar from her and screwed the lid on it, tightly, and set it down on the console. “Rose, do you want me to take you home? To see Mickey?”

“No! No, Doctor,” she answered. “We haven’t–not in a long time–“ She felt a blush rising to her cheeks. “He’s got Trisha Delaney.”

“Well,” he said. “Time machine here.”

“I don’t want to be with him.” She took his hand. “With you now. I want to stay here with you.”

“Well, here we are,” he said, squeezing her palm with his sticky fingers. “With Christmas. For one more day–then I don’t want to see any holidays for a good long time.”

Rose smiled. “Unless we decide we want some.”

“Right.” 

She hoped he might lean down and ask her what she did want, but he pulled his sticky palm away. “Better go put this away then,” he said, wiggling his fingers, and grabbing the jam. 

And he rushed out of the room, leaving her with a blinking tree and his still-full glass of Eggnog. 

“Why not?” she said, poured a shot of brandy in the glass, and gulped it all down at once.


	3. Then they had to fix Christmas again

Christmas had been cleaned up and swept away. They’d had a good deal of time away from holidays. And they were running out of jam.

So it was time to visit again. Only Christmas wouldn’t show up.

They could hit December 22nds, 28ths, but never a 23rdthrough a 26th. 

“Any time in December would do,” the Doctor told Rose. “But it’s the principle of the thing. It’s a time machine. It’s supposed to take us anywhere we want.”

He pulled off the Tardis panels and prepared for another long day of tinkering, and she watched from the stool.

“We still have a carton of egg-nog in the freezer,” she said. “Want me to defrost it and bring it out? Get you in the mood?”

He looked up at her, mouth hanging open. She raised an eyebrow and grinned. He’d been reacting much more frequently to her veiled double entendres of late. 

“No, thanks,” he answered, running his fingers through his ruffly hair. “I’m good with some jam.”

Rose bit her finger. “Doctor, I think we’re plumb out.”

“What!”

“Sorry.”

“What!”

“Might have some nutella.”

“That’ll do,” he scowled.

“Yeah, Doctor.”

“This shouldn’t get too complicated. But a good bit of jam--” He smiled and twirled the screwdriver in his hands. 

Hours later, the Nutella jar was practically licked clean on the floor, the Doctor was cursing at the console, and Rose had already reread the last romance novel she’d picked up on Earth.

“No luck?” she said, leaning against one of the struts in the console room, and watching the Doctor muttering to himself. 

“No,” he turned to her. “It’s just–stuck.” He stood up and flung the screwdriver across the room. “Blast it!” 

Rose flinched as it clattered across the metal grating. 

“Sorry,” he turned to her. “I just–“

“It’s okay, Doctor. Just need a break, don’t you?”

He took a deep breath. “Yeah. Toast?” he asked hopefully.

“No jam,” she answered.

“Oh,” he crinkled his face together, disappointed. “Let’s go for a run then.”

“What!” 

He leaned over and poked her. “Tag! You’re it.” And he took off jogging down the corridor.

Rose rolled her eyes and laughed, and took off after him. “Doctor, how old are you, again? Ten years old?”

“700 years–I’m an old man–you’re young–why haven’t you caught me yet?” he yelled, turning the corner through one of the roundels.

“You’re taller,” she yelled back. 

Finally they found themselves panting in a heap down one of the corridors deep in the Tardis. 

“Good run,” he beamed. He reached an arm around her and pulled her closer. She leaned against him, catching her breath, her sweaty fingers locking onto his. They were back to good times. There had been no more mention of the potential uses of his screwdriver, or anything else awkward between them, in a long while. 

“Feel better?” she asked him.

“Oh, yes!”

He pulled his fingers from hers and gently ran his fingertips over her shoulder and down her arms. “You’re made of so many parabolas,” he whispered.

“What?”

“Parabolas. Curves,” he said. “I can almost graph them in my head.” 

He brushed a finger across the back of her elbow, the dry skin there, and down her forearm. 

“Mmm,” she hummed, leaning into him. 

“I think it might be time.”

“Oh?” she pulled back and looked at him, smiling. Time? Finally? Finally he’d noticed her body, and his little touches were sending thrills up her arm and down her spine.

“Time to go fix the Tardis,” he explained, his eyes wide and watching her.

“Really, Doctor?” was all she said. But her smile had faltered, and she could tell he’d noticed. 

“You could come with me,” he said, and he ran his palm up her arm again. “Sit and help me think.” 

“Yeah,” she whispered.

The Doctor never sat still long, so just a moment passed, and then he was up on his feet, pulling her with him and running back down the corridor toward the console room.


	4. And he graphed the precise curve of the Time Vortex

He picked up his screwdriver from the floor of the Tardis console room with a little frown, but his voice was cheerful. “Now, where were we?”

He ran his hand along the shiny steel of the console, then dropped underneath again, peering up at the wires. 

Rose watched from a few steps away, thinking how much the Tardis had become her home. The hard metal grating and elegant coral struts were not cozy exactly, but they were familiar, comforting, her protectors.

“Sit down,” the Doctor asked her. Then he shrugged. “If you want.”

His tone was non-committal, but she knew better than that–he cared more than he could admit. She settled in beside him, cross-legged, their knees touching. “’Course I do.”

He was already peering up toward the wires, moving his lips as if working out the problem. She watched him without moving, trying not to break his train of thought.

“There’s been a short-circuit,” he finally explained. “I’ve got to find which wires are affected, how they connect, and how to restring the wires.”

She rested her hand on his thigh, letting him know she was there, without interrupting.

He scanned above him with the screwdriver, reached up, and started snipping the wires. Finally, he pulled out a chunk of tangled wire in various colors, mostly in reds and greens. They looked partly blackened and charred, with long rips in the colored insulation tubes. 

“Igghhh,” he grimaced at the sight of them, and tossed them on the floor. “Nasty mess.”

He scanned above him again, ran his fingers through the wires as if trying to tangibly trace the connections. He mumbled all the while, numbers and calculations. 

She wondered if she should steal off and leave him to the work, but just then he brought one hand down from above her, and started brushing her skin ever so softly, first her shoulder, then reaching around her back, curve by curve across her shoulder blades, still murmuring.

Even though he was whispering numbers, she still found the motions erotic. 

Over the parabola of her vertebrae, one by one, he clicked his fingertips into place, until he reached the top of her neck. She shivered at the sweep of his fingers. 

He twisted his hand, running the backs of his fingers from her neck to her right shoulder, shifting his arm across her back as he moved. She held herself steady, trying not to move or breathe too heavily, and trying not to utter a sound.

An angle here. A parabola there. The arc of her collarbone. His fingernails along the side of her neck. She arched her neck up, and he brushed just a fingertip across the base of her throat.

She couldn’t quite see him, but she could almost feel the way he was thinking, tracing the tangle of wires up into the Tardis, using the math of her body to guide the Tardis configuration. It was logical, calculated, yet impossibly sensual.

Suddenly, mid-arc, his finger hesitated, retraced its motion. The front of her shoulder. Collarbone. Neck. He paused.

She shuddered and tilted her head. He was lost in thought, his neck turned upward, his mouth open and eyes staring up at the cables. His fingertips settled on her shoulder; his other hand was brushing the wires, as if looking for the right connection.

He picked up the screwdriver and slowly lifted his hand from her. With both hands, he reached up and started fiddling with the wires. Then, never ceasing to pluck the wires above him with his left hand, he reached around her with his right arm again. 

He settled his palm on her waist, brushed down her hip, and scooted her closer to him, her thigh resting against his own. She uttered an exhalation of surprise, which echoed through the Tardis.

With one easy motion, he dipped his fingers under her shirt and started stroking her side. The pads of his fingers traced the concave curve from her hip to breasts. He explored her ribs, then moved back down toward her hips, then rubbed her belly with a sweep of his wrist, extending his fingers across her.

She gave up trying to hold it all inside--she leaned against him and moaned. Her breath quickened and she gripped his knee harder. 

He was muttering in Gallifreyan, deep in his own thoughts, trying to coax the Tardis into the proper configuration. 

He brushed her belly again, then moved back along her waist to her lower back. He traced the back edge of her skirt, the curve of each side of her back, and the curve of her hip. He dipped his hand to the curve along the front of her thigh. 

She felt her breath hitch in her throat with a light moan. He sensed it and pulled away carefully.

“Doctor.”

“Exactly,” he mumbled. “It’s all jumbled just there.”

Deep in concentration, he reached back up to adjust the wires. He cleared them out of the way, pulled them loose from each other, and organized them in groups. She watched him, moving her fingers across his thigh, moving back and forth lightly, just her fingers, wondering if she dared to touch him more. 

Finally he was gazing up through the hole of the tangle he’d cleared, letting his arms fall back down to his lap, and contemplating the work.

She twisted around to face him. He grinned at her, then looked back up toward the wires. “We’re going to fix this, Rose.”

She stroked his forearm, feeling the wiry hair against her fingertips. He didn’t budge. She ran her fingers all the way up his arm and stroked his neck. Then, with her thumb she traced his jawline, the rough dark stubble growing there. She felt him tremble and inhale deeply, lowering his face to meet her eyes. 

He reached up and gripped her wrist, almost crushing her fingers. He dragged her arm away. “Don’t distract me,” he said. 

Then, he twisted her around again until her back was against him, her hips pressed flush against his leg. He reached around her with his arm, poising his palm over her hips. She gasped, waiting for him to touch her. 

“Just don’t stop,” she whispered.

She felt his breath on her ear. He twined his fingers through her hair and brushed it off to one side

“Hold still.” She heard a few clicks and then, “This should take the edge off.”

She felt something cool against her neck that thrummed against her skull. His screwdriver was rumbling, slowly rubbing circles around her spine. 

“Closest thing to vibrate,” he said. 

“Yes, please,” she mumbled, leaning backward against the sensation. All the muscles of her face started to relax, and she leaned back against him slightly.

A blissful, sleepy feeling filled her stomach and her lungs, and she breathed it in. She felt him shut off the screwdriver, and let it clunk on the floor, then his fingertips replaced the smooth marble against her neck. 

He started again, brushing circles against the curves of her neck, then down her back, and around her waist. “Going to trace the wires along these struts,” he told her. “Using you as my guide.”

She could feel his warmth easing into her hip, but he hesitated. “Is this all right, Rose?”

“I can make some sacrifices for Christmas.”

He laughed–silently, but she could feel his chuckle deep in his stomach. 

And then his hands were on her thigh, pulling up her skirt, reaching down and plunging against her leg. She felt her whole body react, and she sighed aloud, as he started tracing long, curving lines around her thigh. She knew he was tracing wires that curved around one of the struts, the backbone of the Tardis console, against her leg. 

 

“Doctor, you’re such a tease,” she mumbled.

“Every artist has his muse,” he answered. “You can be mine.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

He continued, tracing up and down her leg, ticklish circles around her knee, then working inward toward her inner thigh. The light brush of his fingertip became more firm, more focused, until he was nearly pressing into her flesh with his palm, kneading and massaging her. 

She should have been squirming and pressing herself against him, eager for more–yet she felt so calm. 

She’d become his map, part of the heart of the Tardis again. He was diagramming the connections in the Tardis, her body as his guide. 

And with his touch, she could almost remember what it was like to look into the Tardis, to see the entire Vortex in her mind, and all the vast history of the Time War. To pull Jack up from the dead, and to disintegrate the Daleks into a fiery void.

As the Bad Wolf.

She trembled, as he traced a wire around from her knee and up her leg, into the crevice between her thighs. She was the control panel. She was the link. The vibration of his screwdriver had linked her with the Tardis wiring. She was connected. She was electric. She groaned and arched her body into his hand.

“Bad Wolf,” she whispered involuntarily.

He raised his fingers off her thighs, and replaced them onto her stomach. 

“Don’t know why I said that,” she said, and tried to laugh it off. 

He paused there for several seconds, as her breathing calmed down again. She waited for him to continue. 

“Don’t stop,” she finally said, struggling to move and found she couldn’t. 

He looked down at her, his face pale. “Rose.”

“Don’t stop now!” 

“Rose, you’re glowing.”


	5. And the Bad Wolf was released.

She knew it was true before she looked down at herself. Hadn’t she felt it–the Bad Wolf, the heart of the Tardis? And suddenly she felt hot all over–not feverish, but turned on, plugged in, energized. Electric.

She felt the power building, in her belly, in her thighs, until she no longer felt connected with the ground beneath her. “Think I’m floating,” she said, closing her eyes. 

“Low-level telepathic energy field,” he said. “You’re linked to the Tardis floating in the Vortex. Hold still, Rose, I’m going to release you.”

Holding her waist, he readjusted her, until she was leaning more against him and his arm was further around her. She felt the cold tip of the screwdriver against her neck again, and tried to scoot away.

“Not that, again.”

“I’m breaking the connection,” he explained. “It might hurt a bit.”

A jolt of pain, like a stabbing headache, cut through her head as he turned the screwdriver back on, and she felt her body convulse. Every nerve ending in her body burned. 

Then he dropped the screwdriver and was holding her in his arms. He ran his palms down her shoulders, down her thighs, and the burning sensation eased up. “Need to re-circuit your electrical connections. Hold still.”

With long, straight lines, he scraped fingernails across her belly, down her legs. She pushed up into his hands. The rough sensation eased the horrible tingling feeling, until she just felt erotic and aroused again. She tilted her head toward him, toward the scent of him, moaning in time with his motions as he stroked her body. 

His movements weren’t calculations anymore–they were linear, directed, focused only on her. And he was systematically working inward, toward her core, the energy center at the calyx of her thighs.

“Yes,” she moaned, willing him to touch her more deeply. She was already wet, ready for his hands–had been for some while–and all the heat that had been coursing through her body was collecting there. 

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m going to take you there.” His hands dipped under her skirt, massaging her inner thighs in circles, as if untangling the long strands of wire he had been tracing. 

He dipped his fingers in her knickers and stroked her, lightly. She pressed against him, and he moved faster, his fingers stroking firm motions along every surface of her inner thighs. 

She arched against him, impatient, and wanting release.  
“Hey, beautiful,” he said to her. “Hey, Rose. Steady now.” 

She thrust against his hand, moaning, and he worked a finger inside her, in and out, deeper and deeper. She groaned with satisfaction, pressing against him, and he pushed another finger inside. 

She reached down with her hands on his wrists, arching her hips until she pressed his hand against just the right spot. He moved in circles there, whispering to her. “Steady, Rose. Don’t force it.” 

He ran the other hand through her hair. “Just ride the feeling. I’m not going to stop now.”

Finally, relief washed over her in long waves. 

“It’s good,” she moaned.

“Just ride it all the way through.”

“Yes, Doctor,” she gasped.

He kept rubbing her, thrusting, in time with her body, slowing down as her hips slowed. As she tightened around him, he eased his hand free. He rested his palm against her thigh again, settling her in against him, and she breathed deeply, letting her eyes flutter and shut.

“Feel better?” 

“Yeah.”

“Good.” 

“Am I still glowing?” she asked.

“Not like the Tardis,” He laughed in her hair. “Not golden any longer. But still glowing? Oh yes. I think so.”

She looked down at her hands, and they appeared normal again.

“But I’m not–“

“Not the Bad Wolf. No. Just my Rose.”

With an effort, she sat up and twisted to look at him, pressing her hand into his thigh for support, then stroking his leg and reaching up to his waist. She felt she should return the favor, but then she remembered he was fully dressed, working on the Tardis. 

His eyes looked dilated in the dim light, his cheeks flushed. She tried to lean forward to kiss him, to caress him, but she felt clumsy and slow. He gripped her wrists as she moved up his thigh and toward his face, pushing her away. 

“Not yet, Rose.”

“When?”

“We’re here to fix the Tardis,” he murmured. “Remember?”

“Mmhmm,” she said. “But we just–“

“That wasn’t sex, Rose,” he said. “That was the fastest way to break the circuit between you and the Tardis.”

She flushed, feeling the space between her legs sticky and warm and beginning to ache from the pressure his hands had just left on her. “You can’t mean that wasn’t–“

“I know how to fix it now. You showed me.” He beamed his biggest grin, and she felt herself grinning back, but then stopping herself. 

“But–“ She tried to protest, pulling her arms free.

“I need to keep working. –I just have to straighten out the cables, route them through a central control panel.” 

“Doctor, can’t we just–“

“I think you should go to your room,” he said then, running his fingers back up her arm. “Get some rest. Get ready for some Christmas.”

Rose stood up with shaky legs and gazed around the Tardis room, dazed. She could hear him reaching his fingers into the wires, the hum of the screwdriver.

But the Tardis suddenly looked very alien to her, and she suddenly imagined the inside of her room at the Powell Estates. Her little room with its dim window, pink pillows, and clothing strewn about, and the shit-eating grin on Mickey’s face after they made love. He was just Mickey, plain old tin-dog, idiot Mickey. Her Mickey, who loved her. 

Her head spun. Amazing, how he had loved her, so doggedly, so unconditionally, so wholly. The Doctor didn’t even seem capable of that–

She had to lean on the Tardis console. She wasn’t ready to stand or walk yet. Her head felt empty now the Tardis and the Vortex were gone from it. Her legs were like jelly from his touch.

She closed her eyes. She could hear the Doctor muttering underneath, already oblivious to her again. The Tardis was alien to her. The Doctor was alien to her. Her mind had been disconnected from itself. 

“Sit down, Rose,” the Doctor’s voice called up at her, suddenly present and firm and surrounding her like a crutch. “Before you faint, for God’s sake.”

She did as he told her, letting herself sit back on the floor. She looked at him–his skinny face, pretentious suit, ridiculous hair. 

“There may be some side effects,” he said. “Sorry.”

He reached out and placed a hand on her knee, looking in her eyes, his face full of concern.

She relented the thoughts she’d been having. He did care after all–he was just so alien. Such a crotchety old man sometimes. She took his hand in her own. Softly she told him, “I’m not going to just go to my room and let you pretend nothing just happened.”

Then, clumsily she scooted forward, nearly in his lap, and tried to plant a kiss on his lips.

She expected him to push her away, but he wrapped around her and pecked her lips. “Not at all,” he said. “This was a controlled solution to a technical problem.” 

She frowned.

“Rose Tyler,” he continued with a smile, “If we’re going to make love, it’s going to happen properly. Between me and you–not me, you, and the Tardis.”

Rose smiled, as he held her shoulders steadying her. “Doctor–can’t the Tardis wait for now?”

“But I have the answer here in my head! Give me fifteen minutes. And then, I will give you a Christmas you’ll never forget.”

He leaned forward and kissed her lips, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. 

And then, he was untangling their limbs, and moving her away from him. “Stay and watch?”

“Go on, then,” she said. “Make the Tardis bring us some Christmas.” And she settled in to watch him work again.

He grinned and picked up his screwdriver from the floor. She watched him strip wires, rethread them, solder them with the tip of his screwdriver, run out of the room for supplies, and then back in, to hook in the central control panel. 

When he finished, he gazed up at his work and let a grin slide over his face, as he clipped on the cover panel again. He beamed the screwdriver up to tighten the screws in place, then ruffled his hands through his hair. 

“I think we’re in business again,” he said. “Christmas and any day of the year you like best.”

He pulled himself out from under the console, and reached out for her hands. She let him pull her to her feet. 

“Steady?” he asked gently.

She nodded, testing herself, and finding herself no longer dizzy. 

“So, Doctor–parabolas? Did they help you fix the Tardis?” She stroked the arc of his wrist with her hand, then examined the palm of his hand with her fingertips. 

He watched her caress his palms for a moment. “Oh, yes,” he said.

Then he wrapped his fingers around her arm and lifted her hand to his lips. He flicked his tongue against the inside of her wrist and planted a quick kiss on her palm. She shivered, and he said, “Better than jelly!” He began licking her fingers, one by one.

“You know all that work you just finished, Doctor?” she whispered, closing her eyes.

His tongue paused. “Yeah?”

“Well, Christmas is going to have to wait.”

“That’s just fine,” he smiled. “Don’t think I need much jam for a while.”

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally posted at Teaspoon and an Open Mind, http://www.whofic.com/viewstory.php?sid=43567.


End file.
